


like gold

by bbhyun



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Ambiguous Relationships, Athletes, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Mentioned SEVENTEEN Ensemble, Pining, Slow Burn, Team Dynamics, Time Skips, Volleyball, everyone is in love with soonyoung, like everyone. And right off the bat too, team sports can be something that is so...homoerotic..., what happens in locker rooms does not always stay in locker rooms, wonwoo is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 08:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbhyun/pseuds/bbhyun
Summary: All it takes is Soonyoung grinning at him and Wonwoo is reminded, in an instant, of why he’d picked that jersey up in the first place.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here is a little something i wrote (read regurgitated when i should have been studying)  
> it is completely unedited and not as good as i hoped it would be. perhaps 1 day i shall work up the momentum to go through and edit this but it will do for now ajsdkdas
> 
> i really wanted to try a new AU and i thought a team sport would be fun bc Tension.. Teamwork...Sweat... but i realise after a while it turns more into an essay about why i, personally, am in love with hoshi and less of a sports fic but what can i say i am a slut for hoshi and this helped me through my intense missing hoshi hours. perhaps it will help tide u through the svt drought too

The thing no one tells you as a young, bright-eyed hopeful about the life of a semi-professional athlete is that it’s a lot of hard work for a salary that hardly covers your bills. When Wonwoo first joined the club, eighteen and fresh out of high school, he’d done so envisioning a future with bright lights and Nike sponsorships. For the first few years, his idealism had persevered, fierce naiveté lingering even through his parents’ uncertainty and the bruises on his knees.

At the age of twenty four, Wonwoo is still stuck waiting for his breakthrough in the world of sports, the moment where he graduates from Little League and makes it with the big names. Some things stay the same, like the rush of endorphins he gets when he sets a ball perfectly into his spiker’s palm or the way the gymnasium smells more like home than his cramped apartment. Others change. These days, his idealism is replaced by a dogged determination which forces him to grit his teeth and get through each day.

“Did you hear?” Seungkwan says to no one in particular, lacing his shoes up in the locker room. “Someone’s joining the team.”

Wonwoo rummages through his bag for his contacts and barely acknowledges Seungkwan. He has about two minutes to find his contacts, shove them in, and change his shoes before Seungcheol gets properly pissed.

“I hear it’s someone who trained overseas.” Seungkwan continues in the absence of a reply as he double-knots.

“America?” Seokmin offers gamely from his locker.

“No, Japan, I think.” Seungkwan continues. “I wonder what position he’ll play.” Wonwoo gives up and empties the contents of his bag on the floor. A couple of crumpled receipts, one old shirt, and a stick of deodorant fall out with a thump. Seungkwan wrinkles his nose.

“Anyway, he’d better not be a spiker.” Seungkwan complains, setting both of his feet back on the ground. Seungkwan says this every time a new player joins, because Seungkwan's the kind of player who finds a rival in every decent player. He'd said it before Seokmin, before Joshua, but Wonwoo's known him for long enough to know that there is never a bite to his bark. Wonwoo finds his contacts case wrapped in the damp fabric of his shirt.

“I bet he’s good,” Seokmin’s musing serves as the background music to which Wonwoo struggles to put his contacts in. It’s been years since he’s started wearing them and one would think he’d have gotten used to them by now. Wonwoo firmly believes a person’s finger should never have to touch an eyeball. “The ones from Japan always are.”

Wonwoo blinks rapidly, then jams his feet into his shoes, tugging the back of the shoes over his heel.

“However good he is, he won’t be excused from Seungcheol and his nagging.” He joins the conversation finally. “Hurry up, or he’ll get your asses.”

Seungkwan and Seokmin pull faces at him, but they do as he says, slamming their locker doors shut and heading out to the court. Wonwoo follows close behind and flips the light switch off as he leaves.

It’s another day where their coach can’t make it, which leaves Seungcheol in charge of their training. Wonwoo completes his laps with ease, and gets started on his drills without instruction. He practises his passes with Jihoon, who receives them with ease. They work in silence, in contrast with Seungkwan, who always practises with exaggerated shouts, or Jeonghan, who has a habit of crying out with each pass. It’s the dreary part of trainings, where Wonwoo can receive and spike and fetch balls with boredom, but Seungcheol’s even firmer than their coach about drills, and the team spends the better part of the training repeating the same drills over and over until he’s satisfied.

The fun only really begins when Seungcheol calls for a match. Wonwoo thinks of a younger version of him, who’d foolishly believed professional athletes spent their time only playing matches until their lungs burned, when now every match they play never feels long enough for him. When Wonwoo first started playing volleyball, he, along with every other hot-blooded boy, had been drawn to spiking and the undeniable rush that came with the sting of ball against skin. It hadn’t taken long before he found he was much more suited to setting, opting to toss with light fingers and leave the heavy work to his teammates. There’s a degree of control that comes with being a setter that Wonwoo enjoys. It reminds him of his video games, when he has to consider his different options and decide on the best strategy, only in volleyball, the thinking happens in a matter of seconds. It’s a delicate art form, really, when his fingertips send the ball to his spikers’ hands at just the right angle, just the right speed, and Wonwoo gets this satisfaction as a setter, along with the shared victory of the ball slamming onto the ground. 

Today’s match ends with his team losing to the other. Jeonghan eggs him on cheekily, rubbing his victory in with dancing eyebrows and a thin-lipped smirk. Wonwoo bristles, but only slightly. He’s gotten better at controlling his competitive side.

“There’ll be someone new joining our team soon,” Seungcheol mentions at the tail end of his debrief, and everyone perks up, unfocused eyes suddenly snapping back to Seungcheol. Wonwoo hums to himself, wiping the sweat off his neck with a towel. Seungkwan had been right, after all, though Wonwoo supposes he shouldn’t have questioned it at all. For some reason, Seungkwan’s always the first to hear of things like this.

“He’s a spiker, according to Wonho hyung,” continues Seungcheol after a dramatic pause, “and we’re going to _welcome_ him.” He says with a pointed look at Seungkwan, raising his voice so it’s heard over the sudden chatter.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me,” replies Seungkwan nonchalantly. 

Their new teammate joins three days later. His name is Kwon Soonyoung and again, Seungkwan had been right, because Soonyoung’s spent the last two years training in Japan. This he mentions in his introduction, right after he bows deeply and gives them a wide smile. Everyone listens politely, but Wonwoo can feel the difference in atmosphere. They’re already pretty intense on the daily, but fresh meat always has each member particularly on edge, hungry to prove themselves and force said fresh meat to then prove himself. Wonwoo wonders if Soonyoung can feel it too. Kwon Soonyoung is twenty four years old, has tried his hand at all positions, but, much to Seungkwan's exaggerated chagrin, is best at spiking. 

“What do you think?” Jeonghan, the other setter on their team, whispers by his side.

He tilts his head and considers Soonyoung. He’s not particularly tall, which makes Wonwoo think he may be a jumper. He’s well-built too, and he stands with straight-backed confidence, although Wonwoo sees through the easy smile and notices how Soonyoung’s eyes shift about nervously.

“He seems capable,” is the reply that Wonwoo decides on.

Jeonghan only laughs dryly. “He has to be.”

New members always take some time to get used to. No doubt Soonyoung’s having a difficult time adjusting to the Diamonds and their drills—Wonwoo’s pretty sure it’s nothing like what he’d been doing way back in Japan. But Wonwoo’s not bighearted enough to waste his time thinking about concerns like that; he’ll leave the worrying to Seungcheol. Instead, Wonwoo focuses on himself and how he’ll get used to the new addition. With every new member, the balance of the team is disrupted, and everyone’s left to scramble about and figure how things should work from now on. Maybe he’s being too self-absorbed, but Wonwoo thinks he and Jeonghan struggle the most with new spikers. It’s they who work most closely with the spikers, after all, which means they’re the ones who have to test the waters and learn to gel with each player that joins.

Jeonghan gets the opportunity to play with Soonyoung before he does, which Wonwoo doesn’t mind, because it gives him more time to observe. He quickly learns he doesn’t have much to worry about. Not that he hadn’t expected it, but Soonyoung’s good, even with the clumsiness that comes with playing with strangers for the first time. Jeonghan, himself figuring out how to work with Soonyoung, tosses the ball a little off several times, but Soonyoung manages to adapt to them each time, shifting his position mid-jump to send the ball over the net. The nervous eyes are gone now, replaced with ones focused to a slant. 

Beside him, Joshua whistles lowly.

While their intensity and Seungcheol’s warnings may suggest otherwise, the Diamonds are a warm and welcoming bunch. It doesn’t take long for Kwon Soonyoung to find his place within the team. It helps that Soonyoung himself is open and likeable and actively tries to make the first move. When Wonwoo himself had joined, it had taken him a full month and a half of trainings before he’d been fully comfortable with the team. A week since he’s joined and Soonyoung’s already rivalling Seokmin for loudest in the team.

Wonwoo walks into the locker room, towelling his damp, post-shower hair, to the sound of Soonyoung’s laughter. It’s a high-pitched giggle that is now almost always accompanied by Seokmin’s deeper one. Wonwoo thinks Seokmin may be half in love with Soonyoung, what with him laughing at all of Soonyoung’s jokes and them creating inside joke after inside joke.

“Hi Wonwoo,” Soonyoung waves when he spots Wonwoo quietly shuffling to his locker. For a brief moment, Wonwoo startles at the informal tone Soonyoung greets him with, then he remembers he and Soonyoung share the same birth year.

“Hello,” he responds awkwardly. It’s a little soon for them to be breaking into informal speech in Wonwoo’s book, but he returns the courtesy regardless.

“Seokmin, Seungkwan and I are going to grab something to eat. Do you want to come with?” Soonyoung asks with a hesitant smile. He recognises that he’s probably the only teammate Soonyoung hasn’t had an actual conversation with yet, even Junhui’s struck up a nascent friendship with him. Wonwoo sees the figurative hand that’s being extended towards him.

He shakes his head politely. “No thank you, I’ve got a class to attend.”

“Okay,” replies Soonyoung, pursing his lips. “Next time, maybe.”

Wonwoo sees the figurative hand, but he turns it down. He will open up, eventually, he just prefers to do so at his own pace.

Although he and Jeonghan share the same position, they have different ways of going about it. Jeonghan likes to talk first, play second. He discusses with the others, asks for and gives feedback so he can tailor his tosses to their needs, then tests the changes out on court. Wonwoo, on the other hand, plays first, talks second. He tends to rely on his observations first, mentally taking notes on everyone’s playing style during practice and personally matching them. Talking comes secondary to that, and it’s something he only does if things aren’t working out during games.

It means that Wonwoo’s trained his eye for observation, and he knows his players like the back of his hand. Joshua, for instance, likes tosses that aren’t as quick and float more in the air so he has that fraction of a second more to scan the opponent’s court before spiking. For Seungkwan, Wonwoo tends to set the ball lower, because he doesn’t jump as high. And Seungcheol gets strong, fast passes that he can slam down on with his full power. With what he’s seen of Soonyoung so far, Wonwoo’s concluded he’s somewhere in between Seungcheol and Joshua, spiking with force not quite as strong as Seungcheol, and taking a shorter time than Joshua to think mid-air. But Soonyoung plays with a ferocity none of the others have, one that at times, blurs the line between passion and brashness. To say the least, it furrows Wonwoo’s brows, although it’s not his place to like or dislike others’ playing styles.

Wonwoo pauses now to wipe his mouth and set his bottle down on the bench. They’re midway through a set, and he can hear Jeonghan ask Soonyoung for suggestions for improvement. Soonyoung replies enthusiastically, with animated hands and earnest grins, while Jeonghan nods slowly. Wonwoo is quickly learning that Soonyoung is enthusiastic with everything he does. Sitting down on the wooden bench, he takes another swig of water and dabs at the sweat at his temple. Soonyoung now breaks into a demonstration, jumping to show Jeonghan exactly what he’s talking about. Wonwoo marvels at how much energy he has to spare even during their breaks and almost chuckles. In some ways, Kwon Soonyoung reminds him of a child.

Wonho blows his whistle, and Wonwoo turns his attention back to the court.

When the match ends and the team gathers for Wonho’s debrief, there is a lot less joking around than with Seungcheol’s. It’s not that Seungcheol doesn’t command the attention of the team, because every one of them looks up to Seungcheol with respect that borders on adoration. But when you have the favour of the South Korean national volleyball team, people take your words more seriously.

As usual, Wonho runs through each player’s performance, critiquing and at times, scolding. He has nothing but praises to sing, however, of Soonyoung, who beams and flushes with pride at the recognition.

“No fair, you’ve been here a month and Wonho hyung’s basically in love with you.” Seungkwan whines after the coach has left the gym, to which Soonyoung laughs.

“Then get better, so he’ll fall in love with you,” Jihoon retorts, and now everyone’s laughing.

It just so happens that today, Wonwoo and Soonyoung lose the game the team always uses to decide who’s on clean-up duty. Wonwoo groans good-naturedly as the rest of them stroll off to hit the showers, Junhui blowing him a mischievous kiss on his way out.

“I’ll get the balls,” Wonwoo says to Soonyoung, who he still has not spoken to for more than a minute in the month since he’s been here. Soonyoung, still red in the face from training, nods quickly and moves to gather the nets.

Wonwoo picks the stray balls up with one hand each time, long fingers splayed out, and tosses them one by one into the basket from afar, like he’s shooting hoops. With arms full of netting, Soonyoung cheers at each successful shot. Wonwoo smiles, jogging after the balls that missed and rolled away.

“You know, I’ve played this game for years and I still can’t pick the balls up with one hand,” Soonyoung calls over as he sets the folded nets down and brings the mop out of the storage closet.

“What?” Wonwoo asks absently. He misses his shot again.

“I know it’s a volleyball thing, but I just can’t do it. I guess my hands are too small.” Soonyoung continues, shaking his head with the corners of his lips comically pulled down. He leans down, tries, and fails to pick up the ball that Wonwoo’s just sent his way with his right hand. “See?”

The pout on Soonyoung’s face makes him laugh.

“What, they didn’t teach you that in Japan?”

Soonyoung’s frown only deepens. “They must have left it out of the training schedule. Teach me?” He glances up at the end, eyebrows raised and frown now taken over by a playful smile.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and motions for Soonyoung to throw the ball over. Soonyoung sends it over with a perfect, firm pass that Wonwoo catches easily.

“You have much to learn, don’t you?” The wheels of the ball trolley squeak against the vinyl of the flooring, making Soonyoung wince. “What was Japan like?”

Wonwoo’s almost certain Soonyoung’s only had to answer this question about a hundred times from the rest of the team, but Soonyoung doesn’t seem to mind.

“Strange. Very different from Korea.” He replies as he mops the floor. “They’re very strict about things. And I had to learn how to speak Japanese, obviously.”

“Are you any good at it?”

“Konnichiwa.” Soonyoung quips, letting go of the mop to spread his arms out, as if he’s presenting a show to a one-man audience. Wonwoo snorts, subtly bracing himself for the clatter of the mop against the floor. It doesn’t come, though, because Soonyoung deftly catches the mop with an outstretched foot. Wonwoo laughs properly then, at the ridiculous sight of Soonyoung with both his arms and one leg stuck out. Soonyoung bends down to pick the mop up, grinning back at him. “What about you? How long have you been with the Diamonds?”

“Since I graduated high school.” Wonwoo shuts the storage closet door behind him.

“That’s a long time to be in one place.”

Wonwoo pauses, then gazes at Soonyoung, who’s leaning on the mop with one hand and running through his damp hair with the other. Six years in one club isn’t that long, in the grand scheme of things. Though Soonyoung, who’s apparently been in at least three different teams already, if Seungkwan’s gossip is to be trusted, probably wouldn’t agree. “Well, not all of us have the luxury of being traded from club to club.”

Soonyoung seems to think about this for a while before he returns to his chores.

Running is always Wonwoo’s favourite part of conditioning, because it's the one thing he truly excels at and can easily outrun everyone else. He’d pin it on his long strides, but both Seokmin and Junhui are taller than him and lag behind anyway. There is pride to be taken in in being the best at something in a group of equally athletic, talented men, and Wonwoo accepts this title with grace. 

Today’s a Saturday, which is hill day. Wonwoo’s the first to make it to the end point, bending over to stabilise himself with his hands on his knees. His heart thumps wildly, and he sucks air into his aching chest greedily. When he’s finally calmed his breathing, he lets out one last, long exhale, and straightens up to enjoy the view. The hill they frequent has a summit that overlooks the city. At six in the morning, the air at the top of the hill is damp with the remnants of fog, and the city is beginning to awaken. Wonwoo hadn’t bothered to put his contacts in for the run, so the cars silently pulling down the streets appear to him as circles of light, and he can’t make out the figures of people shuffling about to get on with their lives. He leaves it up to his imagination, then, delights in thinking about the figures he cannot see tottering along and boarding buses and taking in deep breaths to prepare themselves for the day that lies ahead of them.

His peace is interrupted by Soonyoung, second to finish. He falls to the grass with a groan, and pulls his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his flushed face. The movement reveals the strip of skin above his waistband; Wonwoo averts his eyes.

“Damn it,” whines Soonyoung once he’s caught his breath. “You beat me again.” He says this with a boyish grin and a faux disappointment, as if he hadn’t noticed Wonwoo overtake him earlier.

Wonwoo taps at his watch. “Twenty three minutes and ten seconds.”

“Damn it,” Soonyoung repeats, still smiling. “A whole two minutes faster.”

Wonwoo cracks the joints of his knuckles. Soonyoung puffs up his cheeks to blow his bangs off his forehead. They smile at each other, necks slick with sweat.

Light falls on Soonyoung’s face gently. The sun is rising behind Wonwoo, and Soonyoung lifts a hand off the grass to shield his eyes from it. Wonwoo turns back around to welcome the proper arrival of a new day.

“Damn it,” gasps Seungcheol somewhere behind him. “You guys are fast.”

Their first match with the new lineup approaches, a friendly against another club. Nothing too serious, but they train like they’re heading for the Olympics. Wonho works them harder than usual, and no one complains. Wonwoo and Jeonghan practise their setting with the spikers, who take turns to run into a jump and make their shots.

“Should I be doing something different?” Wonwoo asks Joshua after his spike misses his target the third time. Joshua passes a hand over his neck, brow furrowed.

“Could you toss it faster?” He replies after a moment’s thought, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m trying to improve my quick attacks.” Wonwoo nods wordlessly. The next time it’s Joshua’s turn to spike, he hits his target.

“Why don’t you ask me for suggestions?” Soonyoung questions when they’re in the locker room. It’s Wonwoo and Seokmin’s turn to clean up today. By the time Wonwoo finishes up and walks into the room, Soonyoung’s already done showering. He’s only dressed from the waist down, still towelling his dark hair dry. Wonwoo tries not to focus on the outlines of his torso or the purplish bruises that mar the skin on his forearms. “The way you ask Shua.”

Wonwoo reaches into his locker for his towel and showering supplies. “I only ask if things aren’t going well.” Dismayed, he realises he’s forgotten to bring a new shirt and will have to re-wear one. “I thought we were doing fine together.”

Soonyoung tilts his head and knocks on the left side of his head to chase the water out his right ear. “We could always be better.”

Wonwoo picks up the shirt he’d worn on his way to training and sniffs it. He turns around to face Soonyoung again, and almost averts his gaze immediately. He’d forgotten Soonyoung was shirtless.

“Okay,” he says, deciding the shirt, damp from the morning drizzle, will have to do. “Should I be doing something different?”

“I don’t know, we should practise more. Then I’ll be able to tell you.” Soonyoung winks at him, and pulls a shirt over his torso.

Everyone Wonwoo plays with on the team is talented, for sure, but Kwon Soonyoung is in a whole other league on his own. There’s a difference between talent and hard work. Wonwoo’s gotten to where he is with practice and purely practice, and he has the bruises and scars to prove it. When he watches Soonyoung practise, he can see the difference raw talent makes. Where Wonwoo’s had to train his ball sense and reflexes, Soonyoung moves with a fluidity that’s second nature to him. It’s almost a dance, with his poise and posture, and not for the first time, Wonwoo sees why he’d been handpicked to train with Japanese professionals from a young age. A dance whose choreography only Soonyoung knows, and setters like Wonwoo can only chase after. 

Soonyoung had been right. It only took some extra practice between the two of them for him to pinpoint what he wanted Wonwoo to do differently. He relays them to Wonwoo succinctly, who promptly does his best to accommodate to his teammate. They squeeze in their extra practice before trainings, and the extra time to themselves means they have the freedom to test out all sorts of things that would take too long during normal trainings. Soonyoung practices his spikes from every spot on the court he can think of, and he thinks of strategies for the two of them with every rotation of the team. Ten minutes into their first extra practice, and Wonwoo decides that dragging his weary body out of bed an hour earlier was worth it, because it’s rare that he has this much fun doing drills.

He tosses all sorts of shots to Soonyoung: high, lofty passes, fast ones with a straight course, long ones from the other end of the court. Soonyoung gets them almost every single time, the thud of the ball on the vinyl floor only getting more and more satisfactory.

“Wow,” Jihoon remarks when he arrives for training, headphones still on. “Aren’t you two enthusiastic?”

It’s the first time Soonyoung’s gotten the chance to give a proper pre-match pep talk. He does it at every practice, makes Jihoon and Seungkwan groan and the others laugh with fondness each time. When they huddle together, hands in the centre of the circle, Soonyoung breaks into his pep talk, his voice loud and directly in Wonwoo’s right ear. He doesn’t shy away, only smiles.

The set opens with two fierce serves that even Jihoon fails to receive. Wonwoo raises his eyebrows, then bends his knees, eyes back on the opponents.

It’s different when those on the other side of the net aren’t the smirking faces of your own teammates, and as it always does, it gets Wonwoo’s dormant competitive side up and kicking. Perhaps because it’s been a while since they’ve had a real match, but the team’s showing off. Seungcheol’s spikes pack more punch than necessary, folding blocker’s fingers when they don’t slam to the ground—Wonwoo almost feels sorry for his opponents. And after the brief mishap at the beginning, Jihoon recovers, back to receiving with ease. At one point, he saves a shot with a flashy roll to the side. Wonwoo would roll his eyes were they not already busy following the ball. Through it all, Soonyoung wears a shark-like grin on his face, eyes bright when they meet his, and Wonwoo finds he’s grinning too.

Wonwoo feels a single bead of sweat trickle down the small of his back. The squeak of rubber soles against floor.The gravelly voice of the commentators on the audio system.The smack of a well-received ball against taut muscles. He hears Jihoon yelp his name, and his head whips toward the ball soaring above his head. The perfect attack only takes three seconds. He stretches his hands above, eyes darting across the court.

_Three._ Seungcheol on the backline, Seungkwan smack in the centre, Soonyoung at the far end of the court. Soonyoung’s eyes that meet his, hungry. A slight nod. Wonwoo thinks of a practice twenty minutes before sunrise when the gym is empty and they are alone.

_Two._ Wonwoo sends the ball on light fingers, fast and straight to Soonyoung’s waiting palms. He holds his breath _._ There’s a thud of the ball on linoleum, the beep of a point.

_One._ Seokmin hollers. Wonwoo smirks, clenches his fingers into a tight fist.

It’s an unimportant match, with no consequences, no prizes. They celebrate it anyway.

The team piles into a nearby restaurant after they’ve all washed up, a traditional one where they have to sit cross-legged, knee to knee, in the private room Seungcheol’s booked. Someone’s ordered rice wine. Wonho would throw a fit if he knew.

“To a new season,” Seungcheol declares, and they clink their bowls together.

Somehow, Wonwoo finds Soonyoung by his side sometime during the night. Funny, he swears the night had started off with Junhui on his left, Jihoon on his right. Wonwoo rests his chin on his palm, belly full and eyelids heavy.

“Today was so good,” Soonyoung mumbles to himself, tracing circles into the wood with his finger. “Today was so good.”

“You okay?” Wonwoo shifts his gaze from Seungcheol dancing about with Seokmin to Soonyoung. Three months since Soonyoung’s joined, Wonwoo learns new things about him every now and then. Soonyoung has a black beanie pulled over his hair, though he leaves the shell of his right ear sticking out. Wonwoo notes the pinkness and wonders if the skin over it would be warm to the touch.

Soonyoung fixes his half-lidded eyes on Wonwoo. His shirt’s been pulled to the side, worn collar loose and stretched, showing the jut of his clavicle. The skin that stretches from his Adam’s apple to his clavicle’s flushed pink too. Wonwoo fights the urge to adjust Soonyoung’s shirt. There’s a silence between them, that Wonwoo breaks. “What is it?”

“I think,” Alcohol makes Soonyoung’s voice low and raspy, Wonwoo notes, “that you are my favourite setter.”

Opposite them, Jeonghan scoffs. “Okay, Seungkwan’s my favourite spiker.” Seungkwan coos and rests his head on Jeonghan’s shoulder.

Whether he hears the bitterness in Jeonghan’s voice or not, he continues, eyes still on Wonwoo. “I’ve played with so many, but I think we just suit each other. Really, really well.”

Wonwoo nods slowly, pushes his glasses up his nose. It’s getting really warm in the room, the way it does when a bunch of men, alcohol and high spirits are put together and confined in a space.

“We make a good pair.” Soonyoung slurs a little, closing his eyes now.

“I’ve never played with anyone like you.” Wonwoo says carefully. “You’re really good at volleyball.” On his right, Jihoon giggles and slaps both hands to his cheeks.

Soonyoung’s eyes crack open, and stare at Wonwoo for so long the spit in his mouth dries up. His finger pauses mid-circle on the table.

“Right.” Soonyoung smiles slowly, lowering his head so his chin presses to the exposed skin of his chest. The finger resumes its tracing on the table, and Soonyoung laughs airily. “That last point. It was insane. Fucking insane.”

“Jesus, I said we could each have _one_ drink.” Seungcheol returns to the table. His stomping dance with Seokmin may have suggested otherwise, but Wonwoo’s had enough celebrations with Seungcheol to know that it takes way more than one bowl of rice wine to send him over the edge. He tilts Soonyoung’s head up to meet his eyes.

“But I _did_ have one drink.” Soonyoung whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just one.”

Jihoon giggles again, and Wonwoo joins him.

A couple of them live in the same apartment complex near the gym. It’s cramped and crumbling, but the rent also leaves them enough spare cash to afford decent meals and occasional nights out. It hadn’t started out that way, but it becomes a sort of dormitory for them. It comforts Wonwoo, makes him feel a bit better when he worries he’s missing out on life after hearing about his high school friends and their college lives. He stays on the same level as Junhui, who’s a few doors down. Jihoon’s one floor above them, and when Soonyoung decides not to renew his lease at his place and moves in two months later, he’s one floor above Jihoon, two floors above Wonwoo.

Soonyoung’s housewarming gift is an invitation to their weekly affairs, where they sit around Junhui’s coffee table because he has the largest apartment, and snack on things their coach would frown upon. Now that there are four of them, squeezing on his secondhand couch is no longer an option, so Wonwoo’s often the one who takes one for the team and sits on the floor, folding his knees to his chest.

Wonwoo wraps his fingers around the mug of tea Junhui’s given him. Somehow, Junhui always has a stash of tea in his house, though Wonwoo swears he’s never seen him drink more than a sip. A slow song plays from a speaker Junhui keeps atop his microwave, the clock on the wall reads 11.58pm.

“I don’t understand how you do classes after training, Wonwoo. Especially Saturday. My thighs are killing me.” Jihoon grumbles, stretching his legs out on the couch and kicking Soonyoung in the process.

“I’ll massage them for you,” Soonyoung singsongs, digging an elbow into the muscle and instantly getting a foot to his chest with a _fuck you, Kwon Soonyoung._ When Soonyoung’s managed to shove Jihoon’s feet out of his face, he glances at Wonwoo, a giggle on his lips. “You take classes?”

“Computer stuff.” Wonwoo explains. He’d started his night classes last year, partly to appease his parents, partly to appease himself. “It’s boring.”

“No, it’s not.” Soonyoung says quickly, trapping one of Jihoon’s socked feet under his arm.

“Yes, it is.” Wonwoo scoffs.

“I know jackshit about computers.” Jihoon’s foot is free. “It’s interesting!”

“No, it’s not.” Jihoon snorts.

“It really isn’t,” continues Wonwoo, hands still around the mug. Maybe if he asks nicely, Junhui will donate his tea collection to him. He’s practically the sole consumer anyway. “It’s just something to help me get a job someday.”

“But you have a job.” Soonyoung’s reply makes the other three laugh.

“Barely,” Junhui says with an impish smile.

“I can’t do this forever.” It’s a sobering thought that has been haunting Wonwoo more and more lately. He’s approaching his sixth year in this industry, but with each year Wonwoo only questions if he’s cut out for this life. Six years in, the lights are bright, but the sponsorships are not coming, and the bills still need to be paid.

“Don’t you have a backup plan, Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung pauses to think, jutting his lips out. “No, not really. Just the national team.”

A silence falls among them. Wonwoo admires the conviction in Soonyoung’s voice. There’s something sweet and almost innocent in the declaration that tugs at the corner of his lips fondly. Then, Wonwoo thinks of Soonyoung and his ferocity on the court, how the arch of his back mid-jump is an art form in itself, and takes back his words. Not innocent, but sweet nonetheless. Wonwoo wonders what it would be like to have that much faith in yourself and your abilities.

“Damn.” The silence is broken by Junhui.

Wonwoo tugs his shirt, drenched and clinging to his skin as it comes off, and tosses it to the bench. He draws his shoulders backwards, cracks a joint in his back that’s been bothering him since the match. Wonwoo twists the faucet all the way to the end, so that the water will be just shy of scalding when he starts.

In the background, he hears a low voice singing in the bathroom. Joshua, Wonwoo thinks, as he steps out of his shorts. The water comes pouring down, and he relaxes under the heat. He’s lucky to still have hot water. Seungcheol’s pushing them hard with the new season drawing close. He’s already having a hard time, and he’s one of the fittest of the group. The slap of feet against wet tiles signals Joshua’s departure.

“See you tomorrow, Shua,” he calls out, rotating his head to stretch out the muscles in his neck.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Soonyoung jokes, setting his things down a few cubicles down from Wonwoo.

The singing pauses. “I’m still here.”

“The water any good?” Soonyoung peels his shirt off but can’t be bothered to take the two steps to keep it in his bag. It drops to the wet floor with a thwack.

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Yeah, hot.”

“Nice.” Soonyoung winks, and steps into the shower. The faucet squeaks, the shower starts.

Wonwoo pushes his hair out of his eyes, slicks it back and relishes in the warmth. Soonyoung starts to whistle, a cheerful, whimsical tune vastly different from Joshua’s calm voice. Briefly, Wonwoo glances over.

Last week, Soonyoung had showed up to training with his hair dyed a shock of platinum blonde. Jihoon says it makes him look like a juvenile delinquent. Wonwoo thinks he looks like a celebrity. The water trickles, down the slope of his neck, catches in his clavicle, spills down his chest in rivulets. Soonyoung lifts his arm to his light hair. Wonwoo catches a patch of raw skin over his elbow. He follows a single stream of water, down his chest to his abdomen, till its lost behind the panel between them.

“You’re staring.” Wonwoo’s eyes snap back up to Soonyoung’s face. The hot water dilates the vessels in their skin, the blood comes to the surface, skin pink. Soonyoung’s head is tilted up towards the shower head, angled slightly to look at Wonwoo with mischievous eyes.

Blinking, Wonwoo passes a hand over his face, wiping some of the water away. “I’m not.”

Soonyoung laughs. It isn’t the usual high-spirited giggle that bubbles out when Seokmin does a silly impression or the snicker when he draws out a reaction from an irritated Jihoon. This laugh is low and breathy. Wonwoo is reminded of Sunday nights when Junhui’s dozed off on his couch and Jihoon’s retired to his room and Soonyoung sits closer to Wonwoo so they can talk quietly without disturbing the other.

“You’re always staring.”

He twists the faucet once more to stop the water, and begins patting himself dry with his towel.When Wonwoo doesn’t reply, Soonyoung resumes his whistling.

He leaves before he can start sweating from the steam of Soonyoung’s shower.

The season opens with a match with a team from Busan. Wonwoo isn’t too worried, even though Wonho keeps warning them not to get complacent. For some reason, Wonwoo has a good feeling about this season. He can already see their team holding the league trophy. When he tells the others this as they leave the gym, bags hanging off their shoulders, Jeonghan replies plainly. “Obviously, we’re going to win.”

But being confident in the team is still separate from pre-game nerves. Wonho hasn’t mentioned it, but the national team’s scouting for hopefuls this season. Seungkwan tells Wonwoo this in a hushed voice during a break with the same self-importance he always has when he thinks he’s bringing in good gossip. It’s not anything Wonwoo doesn’t already know, though he nods and raises his eyebrows to satisfy Seungkwan. The Olympics will be returning in slightly under four years. South Korea is hoping to return to the games.

Here in Busan, their very own Olympics begin. The coverage of the match is but a minuscule fraction of the international stage. Only fanatics and bored families flipping through channels will see this, but Seungcheol speaks to the interviewers warmly anyway. The match ends in two sets, with the final point going to Joshua. His practice has paid off. Now, his quick attack rivals Seungkwan.

Wonwoo bows to his opponents, then to their supporters, and immediately heads to the locker room. He’s always left the post-game interviews to his teammates and tries to avoid them unless someone drags him along. They’re better at that kind of thing anyway, Wonwoo’s always a bit too fidgety and serious in his interviews. Today, the interviewers crowd around Joshua. It makes sense, he has just the look the media’s crazy for, and they shoot at him questions about the Diamonds and his training regime, and stupid ones like _what’s your ideal type, Joshua-ssi?_

Wonho claps them each on the back as they walk off the court. When Wonwoo passes him, he waits for a compliment like the one he’s just given Soonyoung, but it doesn’t come. Wonwoo tries not to let this sour the sweetness of a victory, but Wonho’s opinions hold even more weight now that selections for the national team are starting. Behind him, Jeonghan wraps his thin arms around Wonwoo in a hug.

“You did well, Jeon Wonwoo,” he sings, breath tickling Wonwoo’s ear. Jeonghan spent today’s match benched, which means he’s clean and dry and pressing himself against Wonwoo’s sweaty skin. Laughing, Wonwoo moves to untangle Jeonghan’s arms and save him the unpleasant experience of having Wonwoo’s body odour right under his nose. For someone with a slight body frame, Jeonghan’s grip is strong and unmoving.

“You didn’t have to help me,” says Wonwoo as he wheels the trolley into the storage closet. Soonyoung skips after him.

“Jihoon owes me a favour.”

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side. “If Jihoon owed you a favour, why would you be taking over and cleaning up for _him_?”

Leaning against the doorway, Soonyoung fiddles with the tape around his third and fourth fingers. “Didn’t think about it that way.”

Wonwoo pulls the trolley into its corner and locks it in place. A ball topples from the top of the pile and rolls to the doorway. Bending over, Soonyoung picks it up with two hands, because he still can’t do it with just the one.

“Come and get it,” teases Soonyoung when Wonwoo motions for him to pass it back.

“Are you six?” Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but walks over anyway. The smile on Soonyoung’s face pulls his round cheeks up.

When Wonwoo’s within arm’s reach, Soonyoung darts forward and plants a peck on his lips. It’s so quick that Wonwoo only registers what’s happened when Soonyoung’s leaned back and rocking on the balls of his feet. He should’ve known Soonyoung would use those quick reflexes against him someday.

Wonwoo leans forward and kisses Soonyoung, properly this time, and he feels Soonyoung’s smile widen against his. One, two seconds pass where all Wonwoo can think about is how he’s been waiting for this for months, and a musty room that smells like socks is the last place he’d ever want to kiss Kwon Soonyoung in. But then Soonyoung puts his hands on him, rough, warm skin and soft athletic tape against the flush of Wonwoo’s neck, and Wonwoo can only feel the stirring of desire in his gut.

The ball bounces out the room.

Their third match takes place in Anyang. He spends the bus ride over sleeping through the din of Seungkwan’s yelling and Soonyoung’s giggling and Seokmin’s clapping. By the time they pull up by their lodging, Wonwoo’s only half-awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and shielding them from the glare of the evening sun. He nudges Junhui awake beside him.

Seungcheol pokes about the pile of energy bars and protein shakes on the table. “This is a sorry spread of goodies.”

“What I would give for some ramyeon,” Wonwoo sighs sorrowfully. The worst part of season is always Wonho’s unforgiving food ban.

  
“Fried chicken,” adds Soonyoung helpfully. He sits at Wonwoo’s feet, head pressed against Wonwoo’s knee.

“Do you think if I bribed Wonho hyung, he’d sneak me a can of beer?” Seungcheol jokes, pulling an energy bar from the stash.

“Do you have the money for that?” Jeonghan snickers.

“Do you think if I bribed Wonho hyung, he’d sneak me into the national team?” Seungkwan mutters, drawing laughter from the group and a ruffle of his hair from Jeonghan.

Wonho still hasn’t said anything about it, but it’s confirmed now. He’s supposed to recommend some members to the selection committee by the end of the season.

Absently, Wonwoo plays with Soonyoungs hair, dark roots just beginning to show. Soonyoung shifts to look at him. Wonwoo lets the hair slip through his fingers. “Are you nervous for tomorrow’s match?”

“Anyang?” Wonwoo thinks of the last time they’ve played with them. “They’re pretty good, I think.”

“I heard they’ve got a fucking tall blocker.” Seungkwan says darkly.

“Then you’ll have to jump higher, Seungkwannie.” Jeonghan reaches over to tickle Seungkwan in the sides.

“But we’ll win.” Soonyoung concludes. “I have a good feeling.”

“The media will be all over you tomorrow.” Wonwoo shifts his leg slightly so his knee isn’t poking into Soonyoung’s neck. The last match had gone particularly well for Soonyoung, and he’d charmed the wits out of them in the post-game interviews.

“Then I’ll have to give them something worth reporting,” Soonyoung replies with a smug smile, leaning back on Wonwoo’s leg.

He does, when they make a comeback after losing the first set.

They’re thrown off at the start, and Wonwoo notes the attackers struggling to break through the Anyang team’s defence. This time round, Wonwoo starts off on the bench. He can see Soonyoung getting more and more worked up when only one in five shots makes it through. The brashness that had turned Wonwoo off at the start peeks through. When he misses the next shot, he lets out an ugly yell, and runs his hand through his damp hair, face pinched.

“Easy,” he calls out from the sidelines, but he can’t tell if anyone’s heard him. Joshua squeezes Soonyoung’s shoulder. Soonyoung slaps two hands to his thighs, and takes a deep breath. He isn’t the only one struggling. Seungcheol hits ball after ball with his characteristic strength, only Jihoon has to dive to save them more than he should. From his position at the front, Jeonghan keeps a sharp eye on everyone, but he’s breathing hard. A beep marks the end of the first set. Anyang beats them with a gap of three points.

“I’m sorry.” Soonyoung gasps, clenching his hair in his fists. “We’ll take the second.”

Wonwoo’s subbed in in the second set.

“Careful,” Jeonghan says lowly before he jogs onto court.

They’ve taken one set to adjust to their opponents. When they start the second set, it’s with newfound assurance from already testing the waters and witnessing the tricks. Their first point comes from Soonyoung, pulling off a cross shot from the front. A wolfish grin spreads on Wonwoo’s face.

“Soonyoung-ssi, what do you have to say about your team’s performance today?” The interviewer is a young woman with bright red lips and gleaming white teeth. “You were incredible.”

Maybe he picked up some interview skills in Japan, Wonwoo thinks dryly, because Soonyoung knows how to work the camera like a professional. He alternates between looking the woman in the eye sincerely and flirting with the camera. It works like a charm, the woman can’t hide the coyness in her voice, and fans have been talking about the Diamonds and their new ace since their last match.

“I owe it all to my teammates.” Soonyoung laughs easily, using a face towel to wipe skin pink with exertion. He nudges Wonwoo in the shoulder.

“Wonwoo-ssi, do you have anything to add?” The woman turns her attention to him. He presses his lips into a neutral smile.

“I love playing with the Diamonds. I love my team.” Wonwoo looks into the camera. “I’d like to thank them making volleyball fun for me.” 

Soonyoung pinches the flesh in Wonwoo’s side, and Wonwoo fights back the laughter bubbling in his throat.

Alone, Wonwoo waits in the locker room. He takes his time to tie the laces on his shoes, rabbit runs around the tree and into the hole. Most of the team’s already gone back to their hotel. Usually, Wonwoo’s one of the first back, eager to sink into his bed and sleep till noon the next day. But the interview held him back a bit today, and the others have left him behind. He sets both feet back on the ground, and pulls out his phone. There are a couple of congratulatory messages from his family and friends back home, all to which he types quick replies.

Soonyoung walks into the room, with only a pair of shorts hanging low on his waist. Wonwoo slips his phone into his pocket and smiles.

“What are you looking at?” Soonyoung snorts, and opens his locker. He reaches inside for his cologne.

“Today was a good match, wasn’t it?”

“ _First_ set aside.” Soonyoung jokes, closing the door to his locker. Wonwoo approaches him from the back, quiet, so that Soonyoung’s mouth forms a cute ‘o’ of surprise when he turns around and sees him up close.

The endorphins released by a well-played game still course through Wonwoo’s veins, they make him do stupid things like kiss his teammate in the locker room in a gym that isn’t even theirs. The endorphins must linger in Soonyoung’s circulation still, because Soonyoung does stupid things like kiss him back.

Wonwoo rests his hands on Soonyoung’s hips. They land on the silky fabric of his shorts, so he hooks a finger in the waistband, tugs it slightly so his hands are all warm skin, moisture from the shower still clinging on. Soonyoung smells like the vanilla of his shampoo and feels like firm muscle and racing heartbeats. Whenever he’s around, Wonwoo feels like he’s a shy eighteen year old again, craving affirmation and validation and the warmth of another against him. It’s giddying and disconcerting, Wonwoo hasn’t had this much fun in a long time.

He kisses Soonyoung like he needs it, and Soonyoung’s pushed back into the locker, metal clanging against his weight. The sound has them jumping apart, and Soonyoung starts laughing. “Does winning a match get you off?”

“Doesn’t victory get everyone off?” Wonwoo fires back, eyes on Soonyoung’s shiny lips.

The book Wonwoo’s reading is a thin volume. He should be able to get through it easily, but these days the hours of training are taking a toll on his attention span, and he finds himself nodding off a few pages in.

“Hello?” His voice sounds gravelly from lack of use.

“Are you going to sleep?” It’s Soonyoung on the other end of the line. Wonwoo closes the book.

“No,” he replies. “Why?”

“Don’t lie, you sound like you’re going to.”

“I’m not.”

Wonwoo opens the door to his apartment at 10.10pm to Soonyoung wringing his hands in his sleeping clothes.

The news came the day before, Wonwoo comes to realise. This is it, he thinks. Despite the bitterness he must swallow, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t come with relief.

“Wonho hyung said he’s recommending me to the committee.” Soonyoung looks so small with his oversized tee shirt and bangs flat on his forehead.

“That’s great news, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, smiling. He means it. Wonho has not contacted him since their last training.

“Do you think anyone else knows?” Wonwoo notes that Soonyoung doesn’t ask if Wonho’s recommended him. He supposes Wonho’s already given Soonyoung the list of names, and Soonyoung knows that he isn’t on it.

“I think Seungkwan might.” He’d been uncharacteristically sullen during conditioning today.

Soonyoung deflates. “I didn’t tell anyone else, though.”

“He’ll be fine,” Wonwoo assures. This is good news to receive. Soonyoung’s been working toward this his whole life and he should be smiling, not chewing on his lip and looking like the weight of the world’s fallen on his shoulders. “Congratulations.”

Soonyoung says nothing, only continues to wring his hands in his lap. Silently, Wonwoo takes them in his.

“I’m sorry,” is what slips out of Soonyoung’s mouth finally. Wonwoo tilts Soonyoung’s face so it isn’t hidden in the shadows cast by his lamp.

“Don’t be.” Everyone on the team, with their sore muscles and bruised arms, deserves this. But if Wonwoo had to pick one, it’d be Soonyoung. From the first time he met him, Wonwoo had already seen that things greater than a semi-professional club lie in Soonyoung’s future. “You deserve it.”

“So do you.” There’s an ache in his chest. Wonwoo’s not sure if it’s been put there by the crack in Soonyoung’s voice or his dream leaving him behind. “I’m sorry.”

Soonyoung starts crying then, softly and hidden behind his fingers. Gently, Wonwoo draws him in. Soonyoung, with his lithe body and the fire that burns within, is the furthest thing from fragile, but Wonwoo holds him like he is. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

Wonwoo lets out a sound that’s more of an exhale than laughter. “It’s 10pm, Soonyoung, I wasn’t going to sleep.”

Wonwoo makes it home close to midnight, head swimming with formulae and numbers. He fumbles with his keys at his door. “I don’t remember giving you a spare key.”

Lounging on his couch, eyes still glued to the television, Junhui waves. “I brought you supper.”

Wonwoo glances at the table, where there’s a small plate of something stir-fried. He hopes it’s spicy. He sets his bag down by the door, and slowly unbuttons his coat.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Half-interested, Wonwoo looks to see what Junhui’s watching. It’s some Chinese channel Wonwoo didn’t even know you could watch on his television.

“About Soonyoung. That Wonho hyung’s recommending him.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo hangs his coat on the hook, and moves to the dining table. “Yes.”

Stir-fried tofu tastes just as good cold. Wonwoo can’t be bothered to heat it up in the microwave.

“Good for him.” The woman on the television begins to chatter in Mandarin in the middle of a crowded street. “You alright?”

Wonwoo chews and swallows his mouthful of tofu. He doesn’t respond for a while. As always, Junhui’s happy to wait. That’s how the two of them work when it’s just them alone. “Yes. Is it bad to admit I wasn’t really expecting anything?”

The laugh Junhui lets out is soft with a tinge of relief. “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one.”

He flips the television off, and pads over to where Wonwoo’s sitting. His large eyes are hooded by heavy eyelids and Wonwoo hopes he hadn’t been waiting for him long. “When you’ve done this for long enough, you know when it’s right and when it isn’t.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo sighs. “I still wanted it, though.”

“Me too.”

They win their semi-finals match. Like Wonwoo’s been saying from the start, he has a good feeling about this season.

“Soonyoung-ssi, rumour has it you’re a national team hopeful. Can you address this?”

“I would be honoured to even be considered.”

“South Korea has their eyes on you, that’s for sure.”

In a team weaker than theirs, maybe this newfound fame would breed resentment. It’s one of Wonwoo’s greatest achievements to belong to a family that only knows pride and love.

“I hope they keep their eyes on him, because he’s going places.” Seokmin wraps an arm around Soonyoung’s shoulders and flashes his mega-watt smile to the camera.

Just like the semi-finals, the finals are set to take place in Seoul. The matches are only a week apart, and most of the team can’t be bothered to take the hour long train home and back again. Every time he visits Seoul, it feels like he’s visiting a new country. Joshua, who left half his life in the American streets, and Soonyoung, who studied Japanese every day to converse with his teammates, probably think he’s a bit of a country bumpkin.

Wonwoo spends his free time in the streets of Seoul with his camera in his hands. He documents it all, because he isn’t sure when he’ll be back.

His team approaches finals in their own ways. He likes to relax as much as he can and get in all the rest before the big day, as does Junhui and Jeonghan. Joshua stays on the court for as long as someone will toss to him, until Wonho has to shoo him out. Seungcheol and Jihoon hit the hotel gym together. Soonyoung and Seungkwan spend their nights poring over videos of their opponents’ old matches, analysing each player and their moves.

If Soonyoung is cherrypicked from all the hopefuls, it is likely that he’ll be moving to Seoul after the season ends. And if that happens, next week might be the last match this lineup will play together.

Wonwoo snaps a picture of Soonyoung and Seungkwan squabbling at a street corner, one waving his hands about, the other mocking his actions with a wicked smile.

Playing in the finals is a far cry from the gym back home. Every time they make it here, Wonwoo’s taken aback. The ceiling’s way higher, the stands actually have crowds of supporters, and there’s more than one television channel covering the match.

Their hands meet in the centre, everyone’s adrenaline pumping, and with it being the final match of the season, Seungcheol leads them in the pre-match talk.

“I believe in us,” He says firmly, wide smile on his face.

They take the first set, but lose the second.

“It’s okay,” Seungcheol assures them.

Wonwoo’s heart hammers in his chest, the way it does when he makes it to the peak of a hill, and through the cheering, and the roar of his own blood in his ears, he exhales coolly. His eyes sting from the sweat, but he fights to keep them open and trained on the ball. When Junhui passes the ball to him, he jumps immediately, twisting his body mid-air to send it to Seungkwan. It’s blocked, however, and Jihoon just barely fails to save it.

“Fuck,” the curse slips out before Jihoon can think to bite it back.

“We’ll get the next.” Seungcheol’s voice is firm, but his breathing is ragged.

Their opponents are the first to reach match point, though they promptly lose it with an unexpected hit Junhui delivers. From then on, it’s one after another, both sides fighting tooth and claw to pull ahead.

Soonyoung gets a point in, a ball that travels straight, parallel to the margin of the court, and the crowd loses it. It may be the most beautiful straight Soonyoung’s shot all season.

Their opponent sends a ball hurling towards them. Junhui just manages to block it, altering its trajectory. Wonwoo’s heart may burst with how it’s thudding against his sternum, but he darts after it anyway.

This is the last game of the season, and Wonwoo doesn’t want it to end.

He catches Soonyoung’s eye, almost sends the ball to him the way they’d done the very first match they’d played together. He hears Junhui call for the ball. He may have tricked the blockers the first time, but Wonwoo knows better than to try the same trick twice. Someone’s shouting from the benches. Is it Jeonghan? Joshua? Wonwoo can’t hear properly over his heartbeat.

This is the last game of the season, and Wonwoo has a good feeling about it.

The ball descends on Wonwoo’s fingertips, and he tips it over the net.

When Wonwoo watches sports depicted in films, the scoring scenes always make him cringe. That’s not how it happens in real life. There’s no slow motion moment with everyone diving for the ball, with time stopping for you to have a life-changing realisation mid-game. In real life, things happen in a matter of seconds. One second it’s within reach, and the next, everything is over.

The sound of the ball hitting the ground is even more satisfying when you’re the one who got it over the net.

Dully, Wonwoo is aware of the cheering from the supporters. Someone pulls him into a group hug. It’s tight and suffocatingly hot and slick with sweat. Wonwoo’s face breaks into a grin that grows into a laugh. A hand ruffles his hair affectionately. The ones on the bench sprint to join in. Wonwoo’s pulled to Soonyoung, who knocks their foreheads together.

The thing no one tells you as a young, bright-eyed hopeful about the life of a semi-professional athlete is that ninety nine percent of the time, the work you put in doesn’t feel worth it. But then a moment like this comes along, when your knees are weak and about to buckle, and the only thing keeping you standing is someone else’s arm around your waist, and you know nothing but ecstasy of the purest, most potent form.

It’s these moments that keep Wonwoo going through the motions of boring drills and gruelling practices and burning lungs. His first taste of victory, with a young Seungcheol who didn’t dare dream of making captain one day, and a Junhui who still spoke in halting, accented Korean. His first time being mentioned in the sports page of the local newspaper, when Jeonghan had hugged him so tight he had to gasp for him to let go. His first sponsorship, from a small athleisure brand that never quite made it in the market, and the million photos Seungkwan had taken with him.

Winning the league means Seungcheol splurges a bit more and takes them to a barbecue restaurant. Soonyoung announces that the selection committee contacted him two days ago, and everyone freezes.

“They asked me to join them,” Soonyoung says, grinning so wide his eyes slant up.

Seungkwan cries, and it makes Soonyoung laugh, blushing from the attention. For once, Wonwoo doesn’t tease Seungkwan for his theatrics. His own throat aches.

“What are you thinking about?” Soonyoung asks, voice low and close to Wonwoo’s ear.

“You sure move around a lot, don’t you?” Soonyoung’s only halfway through his second year with the Diamonds. In four months, when the new year begins, it will mark two years since Soonyoung walked through the doors of their old gymnasium, holding onto the trail of smoke and gossip.

“I’m a jumpy person,” he says lightly, and Wonwoo knows. Once, Soonyoung had told him he thought six years a long time.

The smoke of the barbecue wafts in the room. Wonwoo will have to scrub at his skin to rid it of the scent of meat.

“When will you go to Seoul?”

“Who says I will?” Soonyoung plays with a chopstick, uses it to poke at a piece of charred meat that’s been abandoned on the grill. “I could stay."

“Don’t be stupid, Soonyoung. You’ve wanted this forever.” Wonwoo smiles, though his throat aches again. “No backup plan.”

“I haven’t told them yes, yet. I said I’d get back to them.” Soonyoung purses his lips, and swallows.

“There’s no reason to stay. Soonyoung, the big lights are waiting for you.” He knocks his knee against Soonyoung’s. “The Olympics are waiting for you.”

Dropping the chopstick, Soonyoung lets the metal clatter against the table. He turns and smiles at Wonwoo, eyes distant. “Right. I know.”

The end of the season means they’re granted a break.

“One month,” Wonho tells them with crescent eyes. “You fuckers had better work out throughout, or I’ll beat you up when you come back.”

Wonwoo spends his break catching up on all the shows he hasn’t had the time to watch, and all the new games that he’s installed and never opened. He takes time to do things for himself, and spends the rest of it with his friends and family. When he shows his family the degree he’s spent his nights chasing after for the better part of two years, his mother gets teary-eyed.

They see each other hours on end every other day of the year, so most of the team heads back to their hometowns. Jihoon does, too, and Soonyoung’s caught up with the arrangements with his new team. Which means it’s just him and Junhui in their apartment complex. When they meet up, they pass the time lying on Junhui’s couch and watching dramas with mugs of tea in their hands.

“You can join me next year. Wonho hyung said they might do another round of selections.” Soonyoung murmurs this to Wonwoo one night when they’re huddled under the covers.

Wonwoo traces the outline of Soonyoung’s ear with the tip of his index finger. “I could.”

Wonwoo knows it won’t happen. He thinks Soonyoung does, too, only he’s better at pretending he doesn’t.

“You guys are my favourite team.” Soonyoung rubs his eyes, flips his bangs off his forehead. The platinum blonde phase is over now, back to the black Wonwoo’s missed so much. “I hope we play against each other lots, so I can keep seeing you guys.”

He hums in reply, and drops his finger to Soonyoung’s collarbone. It might be the part of Soonyoung he likes best. Wonwoo loves how delicate it looks, the dip of it, the way it peeks through his looser shirts.

“So you’d better not leave. If I pester my manager for months to get a match with the Diamonds and Yoon Jeonghan pulls up as the setter for all three sets, I might just go insane.”

Wonwoo laughs, because only Soonyoung can lighten things up when Wonwoo only wants to curl up under a blanket and never emerge to see the light of day. “Okay.”

“I mean it. I’d never forgive you.”

Wonwoo stops laughing. He turns, so he’s lying flat on his back and closes his eyes. An ache in his chest. He seems to be feeling a lot of these phantom aches lately.

“Okay.”

“You’re going to forget all about me,” Seungkwan pouts. “Those national team sluts will win you over with their spikes and quicks and you’ll forget all about your favourite teammate.”

Soonyoung pinches Seungkwan’s cheeks. “Forget about Boo Seungkwan? Impossible.”

Bag at his feet, Soonyoung has his train ticket poking out of his shirt pocket. Wonwoo wants to tell him to tuck it in deeper, or the wind will carry it away. Seungkwan beats him to it.

“Seoul’s not that far. You’d better visit.” Junhui straightens Soonyoung’s collar.

“Our national athlete will have his hands full in the big city,” jokes Jeonghan, eyes sly.

“I’ll come back, if it’s just to see my favourite Jihoon again,” Soonyoung replies, quick as a whip, and he reaches to hug Jihoon. Somehow, Jihoon turns Soonyoung’s tight hug into a tackle, muscles flexing as he pins Soonyoung’s arms to his side.

Discretely, Wonwoo checks his watch. Soonyoung has ten minutes till his train departs.

“What, want me gone so quick?” Wonwoo is going to miss the lilt in Soonyoung’s voice.

He pulls Wonwoo into a hug now, having broken free of Jihoon’s grip. His lips brush against Wonwoo’s cheek when he tucks his head into the space between his head and shoulder, but it’s an accident, and not a kiss.

“Seoul is not that far,” he echoes Junhui’s words, and Wonwoo smiles.

“No, it isn’t.”

Seven minutes till Soonyoung’s train departs, Seokmin makes them take a group photo. Someone jostles his arm as he does, and the photo comes out blurry. They only realise this after they part ways.


	2. Chapter 2

Chuseok finally grants Wonwoo the rest he’s been looking forward to. He packs a few sets of clothes, his laptop and a stationery set he bought for his brother into his bag. He still has to pick up a cake he’d ordered from the bakery down the road before he leaves. He adds it to his mental checklist of things to do.

When he boards the train, he neatly stashes his bag in the overhead compartment. He puts the cake on the floor, then, thinking better of it, decides he will hold it in his lap for the ride. Leaning his head against the seat, he takes out his phone and goes through the motions of Chuseok well wishes. Among the list of messages, he finds one from Seokmin. It’s a picture of him and his wife, captioned with a string of emojis.

It’s been nine months since Seokmin left the Diamonds. He smiles because Seokmin’s smiling so how could he not, and sends Seokmin a picture of him hugging his cake on the train.

It’s been a year since he left the Diamonds. The faceless names of people at his workplace get a cursory wish without a second thought. He’s entering his second year working at this tech company, where he spends his days cooped up in the basement and tending to their IT needs. It’s not exactly a job he loves doing, nor one with people he loves—the snobs in the company look down on him and his community college degree. But he gets to wear suits instead of jerseys and these days, his skin is free of bruises. It is enough to make his mother smile.

Soonyoung, obviously, had been the first to move out of their apartment complex. Then the quartet had reverted to the original trio, and the weekly affairs continued. When Wonwoo quit, he moved, because the apartment on the outskirts of town by the gym no longer made sense. The trio is now a pair. Last he checked, Junhui and Jihoon still stay there, and the weekly affairs still continue. Wonwoo thinks of it as him graduating from his college dorm. It’s quiet when he gets to his apartment after his 9 to 5. Wonwoo misses their cackling laughter keeping him company throughout the nights.

He sees them still, from time to time, and they force him to keep in the loop with the sports world. The rest of the team’s still intact, and they have a couple of new players. They lost the league last year, but they’ve just recruited an attacker they hope will bring them to the finals again. The Asian games are coming up in half a year, and South Korea’s national team will be participating. There’s been an increase in coverage of the team lately. Soonyoung’s face is in the papers a lot.

It’s been two years since he last saw Soonyoung, through the screen of his phone. Add a couple of months to that, and that’s the last time Wonwoo saw him in person one morning at a windy train station.

To think that they could stay the same, even with everything changing around them. 

Wonwoo holds no contempt or ill will against him. Life works in funny ways, and they are now on two very different paths. Things are simply the way they are.

“Will you come?” Seokmin pleads.

“I don’t know, I’m busy,” Wonwoo’s voice trails off.

“Oh, please, hyung. Everyone’s free because it’s Chuseok, and it’s been ages since the team got together.”

Wonwoo laughs, passing his ticket to the train conductor to stamp. “I didn’t realise me replying to your message was a direct invitation for you to call and disturb me.”

One good thing about his new job is he gets to see his family a lot more. His hours are regular, now, and he rarely has to travel to other parts of the country. His nights are free, as are his weekends. It’s a more forgiving schedule to live by.

His mother fusses over him the whole weekend. She fears he doesn’t eat properly when he’s alone, he tries to convince her delivery food is nutritious enough to keep him going.

He fools around in the backyard with his brother and his neighbours, passing around an old volleyball the way they used to do when they were children. When he’s busy poring over codes and numbers, it’s easy to slip into a reality where he’s moved on from his past. When he remembers how it feels when a ball hits against the sweet spot of your palm, the melancholy is harder to escape.

His brother thanks him for the stationery set. Wonwoo had it personalised with his name and everything.

They share the cake Wonwoo hugged the whole way back. Vanilla sponge with cream frosting and sliced fruits.

When they gather around the television, Wonwoo tunes in to the sports channel. It’s about time they air the match.

Some things have changed, like the formations the team uses, and the faces of some of the players. They’re better, too. Wonwoo’s out of practice, but his eye remains sharp. Seungkwan’s jump height has improved, and Jeonghan’s sets are even more accurate now. Some things have changed, but most things haven’t. They still put their hands in a circle before each set, Joshua’s still beloved by the camera, Wonho still watches over, arms crossed over his chest.

Wonwoo wonders if Seokmin is watching this in his house, like he said he would. He wonders if Soonyoung knows the match is happening.

He meets Jihoon on the third day of Chuseok, because Jihoon’s parents live a ten minute drive from his. It’s how they struck up a friendship, back when Wonwoo first joined the team. Jihoon tells him that the team misses him and that the new setter can’t measure up to him. Wonwoo tells him that he chose the wrong night classes to attend all those years ago, and Jihoon snickers.

They talk over a bowl of noodles each at a small restaurant within walking distance from Wonwoo’s childhood home. Back when they lived together, Jihoon would make noodles whenever he could muster up the strength, and it would always be the best meal of the week. These are alright.

“Soonyoung’s coming to the reunion, by the way. He’s finally getting the chance to visit again.”

Wonwoo stirs at his noodles with his chopsticks.

“It’s been a year since he last came back.” Jihoon remarks casually. “Crazy, that he only gets to visit once a year.”

Wonwoo stares at the noodles swimming in their broth. Jihoon used to make everyone sit at the coffee table, because the dining table felt too formal. The rest of them would sit cross-legged around the low table, waiting for Jihoon to serve them one by one. Soonyoung had a habit of slurping his noodles obscenely that made Jihoon scowl and Junhui laugh. “I may not be free.”

Jihoon’s chopsticks clatter to the table. “Don’t be stupid, Wonwoo.”

He fixes Wonwoo with a glare, which he ignores. Jihoon likes to think he knows everything, but there’s only so much one person can hold in his head.

At the end of the day, what had happened between Soonyoung and Wonwoo had been nothing more than a few stolen kisses on top of a decent friendship. Wonwoo used to dwell on the what ifs, but his new year’s resolution is to look ahead and not behind, so Wonwoo wastes no time on the past.

They’d kept in contact at the beginning. Soonyoung would call him and tell him about his trainings and his new teammates and their quirks, and Wonwoo would talk about his second family. He supposes they’d both underestimated the rigours of both their schedules, because the calls get less frequent, then the texts, and then it is silent.

And it was fine, because Soonyoung would visit eventually, and even if whatever had happened between them was gone, they’d still have their friendship to fall back on. But then Wonwoo decided he didn’t want to keep clinging onto a dream that wasn’t working out, and retired his number.

When Soonyoung comes home, one year after joining the likes of Kim Mingyu and Lee Chan on the national team, he texts Wonwoo. Wonwoo doesn’t reply, and he tries a call instead. Wonwoo doesn’t pick up, and Soonyoung doesn’t try again.

Wonwoo misses him from time to time, because just a short while ago, it was Soonyoung’s face he saw, from six in the morning on the summit of a hill to midnight when they whispered goodnight and left Junhui’s room. But like he said, Wonwoo’s turning twenty seven and he is no longer dwelling on the what could have beens.

Their reunion ends up being held at a restaurant near the gym. It’s one of the fancier ones, that Seungcheol would only book for real celebrations. Wonwoo remembers spending several birthdays here.

When he shows up, Seungkwan wraps him in a tight hug, burying his face in Wonwoo’s shoulder. It’s kind of melodramatic, given that the last time they’ve seen each other was only a month ago, but it eases some of the stiffness Wonwoo feels.

He’s the last to arrive, not by mistake. He figured it would be better to arrive late, in the middle of the party, and skip the personal reunions. These are his friends, though, so he really should’ve expected their antics whatever time he arrived. Everyone around the table greets him, hollering and teasing and singing, and when Soonyoung just gives him a slight nod with lips pressed together, the whiplash stings so much he wishes he’d come earlier. Maybe then, he’d have the upper hand.

He slides in next to Jeonghan and Joshua, who cling to him. For once, he’s grateful for their constant babying of him and lets them nag at him about his muscles getting soft and his wrists getting smaller. A couple of them are in various states of intoxication, and Wonwoo teases, “Did Wonho hyung finally lift the alcohol ban?”

“It’s Chuseok! Just ‘cause you can drink every day. Asshole.” Seungcheol, somehow hearing him from a few seats down, yells. Seungkwan punches him in the shoulder lightly.

“How are your parents, Wonwoo?” Seokmin calls over from where he sits sandwiched between Soonyoung and Jihoon. Instantly, Soonyoung picks up his phone and begins scrolling. Petty, Wonwoo thinks, but he guesses he deserves it.

“They’re fine, Seokmin. How’s your wife?” Wonwoo swallows the unjustified irritation in his throat and grins at Seokmin, who’s oblivious to everything.

“Jesus, we’re getting old.” Jeonghan makes a face, and mocks, “how’s your wife? Disgusting.” Joshua laughs gently, shaking his head and reaching for another serving of soup.

Soonyoung does not look at him throughout the night. Not while they’re eating dinner, not while they’re drinking, not while someone starts up the karaoke system. He fools around with the others, dances and charms with his personal brand of witty humour, but he does not look at Wonwoo. Wonwoo has no idea what Jihoon’s playing at or why he keeps trying to draw the two of them together, but whatever it is he’s trying, it doesn’t work. With each try, Soonyoung slips through Wonwoo’s fingers.

“Are you not drinking tonight?”

Soonyoung looks up at him, and seems to regret it. His eyes flit to the sides. They’re empty. Wonwoo admits it’s a sneaky move on his part, but after a night of unconsciously wanting Soonyoung to acknowledge him, he realises the only way that’s going to happen is if he corners him like an animal.

“You love to drink,” he tries again, injecting the slightest hint of humour into his words. Soonyoung, leans against the couch of the seat, resting his head in his hands in a faux-casual position.

It takes him a few seconds of pretending Wonwoo’s not there before he realises Wonwoo doesn’t intend on leaving anytime soon.

“I wanted to stay sober tonight.” Soonyoung’s tone is icy; Wonwoo hopes it isn’t pathetic that even words as hostile as those make his heart race.

Wonwoo sucks a breath in between clenched teeth. “I think we should talk.”

They really shouldn’t. If they leave tonight without talking, they will return to their normal lives and that would be fine.

“I’m not sure there’s anything to talk about.” Soonyoung’s eyes flick from the table to Wonwoo, disinterested. The attention has heat rising to his face.

“I think—”

“Is there something to talk about?” Soonyoung interrupts with a sardonic smile. The expression is ugly on Soonyoung’s face. “I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

Soonyoung’s raised voice makes a couple of the others glance their way. From the corner of his eye, he sees Jeonghan’s calculating eyes and Joshua’s worried face.

“Can we talk outside?” Wonwoo asks quietly.

Soonyoung raises a brow, and Wonwoo expects him to turn him down. The nod that Soonyoung gives him is curt, but a chance that Wonwoo will take.

They stand in the chill of a spring night. Wonwoo shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket in hopes that this conversation won’t drag on long enough for them to freeze into little blocks.

“I want to say,” Wonwoo starts and halts almost instantly. He hasn’t planned this. He’d intended on showing his face for half an hour, then slipping out the back unnoticed. He clears his throat and starts again. “I want to say that I’m sorry.”

Soonyoung laughs. The sound is harsh and unfamiliar to Wonwoo’s ears. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“After two years of silence, you come here and tell me you’re sorry. Two whole years and no visits, calls, no texts, no,” Soonyoung pauses to laugh, eyes a little wild. “Not even a fucking email.”

“I was busy,” Wonwoo says weakly.

“I was busy too!” Soonyoung shouts. He looks away, breathing heavily, and then back again. His voice falls. “I was busy too, but I tried.”

Wonwoo notes that Soonyoung’s never lost his boyish habit of wringing his hands.

“I tried to, but I don’t understand.” A pause. “I don’t understand why you left.”

It’s hard, the words come out clumsy and jumbled. “I was scared.”

This catches Soonyoung’s attention, and his eyes are back on Wonwoo. Wonwoo hopes Soonyoung doesn’t cry.

“I quit volleyball, Soonyoung.” Wonwoo says in a quiet voice. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“I know,” Soonyoung spits bitterly. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t know? I still talk to everyone in that fucking room. Everyone, and they all care about you. Of course I know.”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo clenches his fists. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“So you left? Without a word?” Soonyoung shakes his head, expression incredulous. “I don’t understand you.” He leans his head back, blinking furiously.

Wonwoo flexes his fingers slowly. If Soonyoung would let him, he’d wipe his tears for him.

“You’re so strange,” Soonyoung murmurs, dark eyes shining in the glow of the streetlight. He wipes at his eyes fiercely. “Did you really think any of that mattered?”

Light has always chosen to treat Soonyoung differently. The warm yellow on his skin, illuminating his eyes, reflecting off his necklace. It is a haunting sight that startles Wonwoo into admitting that the ache he’s been living with for the past two years had been put there by Soonyoung all this while. “I missed you.”

The breath Soonyoung lets out is mist in the night air.

“Seoul was very, very lonely.”

  
Tentatively, Wonwoo takes the smallest step forward.

“I’m sorry.”

Soonyoung follows Wonwoo back to his apartment that night. It feels painfully nostalgic, only Soonyoung no longer stays two floors above him and there isn’t mould growing on the walls. Wonwoo lets Soonyoung enter first, waits for him to kick off his sneakers and push them aside neatly. Then, he comes in and closes the door. He doesn’t need a key anymore, it locks itself with a beep.

The moment the door closes, Soonyoung is on Wonwoo, pulling him down by the neck and kissing him breathless. It takes all of Wonwoo’s self control to push Soonyoung back.

“Soonyoung.” It shouldn’t be this easy. Wonwoo doesn’t deserve this.

“Please,” Soonyoung says, a little desperate. “Let’s just pretend everything’s okay for one night.” He pulls Wonwoo’s glasses off, because Wonwoo had never gotten the hang of contacts after all, and sets them on the counter. Once again, Wonwoo is pulled down by Soonyoung’s grip, pads of his fingers rough against his neck.

And Soonyoung must feel it, his pulse through the vessels in Wonwoo’s neck. It follows, then, that he must know that even after running away, Wonwoo can’t help but fall back at Soonyoung’s feet, scrambling for any scraps of his heart he’s generous enough to share with him. Somewhere in his brain, deep beneath the feel of Soonyoung’s mouth and the smell of vanilla, is the sobering knowledge that they are pretending, words are still unsaid and the hurt that Wonwoo has created with his own cowardice is far from being resolved. But if it is never to be resolved and this is an indulgence Soonyoung is giving himself on a one-time whim, then Wonwoo, desperate as it may seem—because that’s what he is, isn’t he, will take what he can get. He will take what he can get, and they can part ways in the morning. 

Soonyoung had asked for pretence, but Wonwoo feels the bitterness in the way Soonyoung kisses him with more aggression than Wonwoo’s used to. Soonyoung’s hands move across his torso like he’s searching for something and his teeth nip at his lips like he’ll draw that something out of his mouth if it is not on Wonwoo’s skin.

It shouldn’t be this easy, but Soonyoung is kissing Wonwoo like they’re twenty four years old in a locker room and Seungcheol’s trusted Wonwoo with the key to lock up. The wave that is Soonyoung’s attention and affection—Wonwoo hopes he isn’t being too presumptuous— washes over him again. It threatens to drown him. Wonwoo lets it.

His alarm rings, bright red 6:30 on the clock. Wonwoo awakens, disoriented. In the chill of the early morning, the bed is still warm. How Wonwoo has missed this. If he intends to get to work, he should be heading to the shower now, and packing his things. Instead, he switches the alarm off, shifts the blanket so it covers Soonyoung properly, and shuts his eyes. 

The next time he wakes up, it is to the sound of his door opening. Wonwoo rubs the sleep from his eyes and peels the covers back. 

There is an uneasy silence as he looks at Soonyoung, hair wet and curled at the ends and wearing Wonwoo's old shirt. Soonyoung looks back at him, at his bedhead and crooked spectacles and bare chest. Wonwoo's mind jumps to a start, and he half-expects Soonyoung to leave now and let last night really be the last night, but Soonyoung only stares back, hand on the doorknob. 

"I took a shower." Soonyoung says, cutting through the quiet. "I hope you don't mind." He takes a seat at the corner of the bed.

"Of course not." 

Soonyoung sits with his hands in his lap and refuses to look at Wonwoo. He's got this look in his eye that lets Wonwoo know he's thinking, so Wonwoo waits and hopes, selfishly, that the words that come out will not be harsh. Another tense silence elapses. Wonwoo waits for a goodbye, an outburst, ice. 

"Will you help me dry my hair?" Soonyoung's voice is soft, barely a whisper. Still, he does not look Wonwoo in the eye, but Wonwoo takes it as it is—Soonyoung is loud and eloquent and witty and everything Wonwoo is not with his words, yet he cannot always say what he means. 

Wordlessly, Wonwoo reaches for the hairdryer by his dresser and switches it on. The whirring of the dryer fills the silence, and Wonwoo gently takes Soonyoung's hair between his fingers. He dries it off carefully, partitions the hair into sections and gives it the care Soonyoung rarely does and the care Wonwoo never bothers to show his own. Fiddling with his fingers still in his lap, Soonyoung sits quietly and patiently. In the mirror, Wonwoo catches a glimpse of his face, with the soft curves of his cheeks and the sharp lines of his features pinched into its natural pout, and is struck with something he can't put a name to, but weighs down on his heart. It sounds silly, because they're already getting to that age where they really should stop thinking of themselves as boys, but Wonwoo is overcome with the fiercest instinct to take care of Soonyoung. To dry his hair for him, to cover him up in more than Wonwoo's thin shirt, to rub a balm on his pale, bruised arms. Wonwoo would do all that and more, if Soonyoung would only give him the green light. 

When Soonyoung's hair is dry, Wonwoo combs his fingers through it, lets the strands fall softly through the spaces between his fingers to frame Soonyoung's face. He lets his fingers wander from his dark hair to trace the shell of his ear. 

"I want us to be okay again." Soonyoung leans into his touch, hair tickling his wrist. 

"I want that too," Wonwoo replies, words rusty from sitting around on his tongue for too long. 

A sigh escapes Soonyoung, the kind that you let out when that thing that has been weighing you down for months is finally showing signs of fading. 

There's something that's been heavy on his heart too. He couldn't quite put a name to it back then, but the effects of absence and time have woven together and in their wake, courage has bloomed. Wonwoo now knows that this steady and perennial weight in his chest, as natural as the rise of a golden sun, can only be love.

This gives Wonwoo the strongest wave of deja vu. He stands at the platform. Soonyoung stands with his bag, train ticket in pocket.

“Seoul is not that far,” Soonyoung keeps his voice low. The wind blows the collar of his shirt aside. Wonwoo is reminded of the skin of Soonyoung’s neck, flushed against the pressure of his lips.

“My whole life is here,” replies Wonwoo hoarsely.

Soonyoung smiles sadly and picks his bag up. “I know.”

By the time Wonwoo makes it to the summit, the others are already into their second set of exercises. Jeonghan laughs, clear as crystal. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Wonwoo looks at the watch strapped to his wrist.

“Thirty four minutes, six seconds.” He announces, the way Seungcheol used to make them once everyone gathered. Correction: the way Seungcheol makes them, and used to make him.

Junhui whoops from his position on the ground, mid-push up. The sun has long risen, and Wonwoo gazes at the city sprawled below them. He kind of feels like he may throw up soon, but he laughs too, full-bellied and sure.

One month after Chuseok, the shitty company he’s working for lays him off.

“After I fucking rebooted their Wifi every five minutes because the fucking SNU graduates didn’t know how to turn something on and off.” Wonwoo slurs, indulging in Junhui’s secret stash of rice wine for a change. The tea won’t run away.

“Those motherfuckers.” Soonyoung replies through the speaker held to his ear.

Life works in funny ways.

“There’ll be loads of jobs for computer science graduates,” Jihoon had reasoned. It made perfect sense then.

“You forget, Jihoon, I’m not from a flashy university like those motherfuckers from Seoul are.”

“True,” Jihoon takes a swig of Coke—it’s cheat day, he’d said—, “but there’ll be something out there for you. I know it, Wonwoo.”

Junhui’d interrupted then, with a mug of tea. “I have a friend in Seoul looking for a roommate. He’d probably be able to help you out with a job.”

Two months after Chuseok, and he is chasing Soonyoung all the way to Seoul with nothing concrete but a promise from some guy Junhui knows. Wonwoo is twenty seven and way past the age for parents to coddle, but it doesn’t deter his mother. 

“It’s good to see you,” is what Soonyoung tells him when he picks him up from the station. Their fingers brush when he takes his bag from him.

Not that Wonwoo had been expecting someone weird or anything, but he's relieved that Junhui’s friend is perfectly pleasant and easy to get along with. His name is Minghao and he works, by day, at a middle school, and by night, on intricate art pieces he hopes will make it to an exhibit one day. Wonwoo finds that Minghao’s home is surprisingly familiar. He watches the same television channels that Junhui leaves on as background noise, and there is always tea in the kettle. It tides Wonwoo through the homesickness and unfamiliarity of Seoul’s bustling streets and nightlife.

Wonwoo gets a job as a gym teacher at the school Minghao works in, where the kids might be meaner than the snooty assholes back in the company. Wonwoo is fortunate to have Minghao to complain to and they make quite the pair, the gym and the art teacher, mumbling over cold lunches in the staffroom.

It’s not much, but it’s something. Wonwoo finds himself settling into a new routine in a new city, and finding comfort in the foreign.

“How’s Minghao?” Junhui calls him a few weeks after he’s properly settled in. His voice sounds sleepy, and Wonwoo’s careful not to let the call drag on. They’d played a match with a team from Incheon today, and lost two to one.

“He’s nice.” Wonwoo says, as he watches Minghao walk out of their small kitchen, indoor slippers flapping against the ground. “I’m glad you have normal friends.”

A half-yawn, half-laugh on the other end of the line. “The job?”

“Kids are assholes, but it pays the bills. And it keeps me semi-fit.”

Another half-yawn, half-laugh. “And how’s you and Soonyoung? Whatever’s going on, I mean.”

Wonwoo hesitates. As expected, Soonyoung’s busy, and rarely gets days off. But when he does, he meets Wonwoo for meals and takes him to little shops with various curiosities he finds amusing. Things are slowly going back to normal, whatever that used to be. “It’s really good.”

“I’m glad.”

He hangs up the phone and finally lets Junhui retire to his bed. It’s a couple of minutes to ten. Wonwoo decides a walk would be nice.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Soonyoung teases.

Sometimes, Wonwoo still slips up, unsure if he has the right to see Soonyoung as and when he pleases. There’s a strange calm that’s between them now. Wonwoo fears one wrong step will rock the boat. But Soonyoung is patient with what time he has, and he is generous with the space in his heart—Wonwoo learns that what is easy is oftentimes what is right.

Soonyoung walks over, with scuffed sneakers and hair soft and clean.

“I just felt like it.”

“Oh.” Soonyoung ducks his head, looking pleased.

Wonwoo mostly walks in silence that Soonyoung’s happy to fill with stories about his day. He tells Wonwoo about Kim Mingyu, who’s apparently the peak of what humankind has to offer and can do just about everything in the world, and Lee Chan, their libero, who’s the younger brother he’s always wished he had. He mentions that he’d sprained his ankle two days ago, and Wonwoo makes them stop by the convenience store to buy the most expensive ankle guard they have.

“This bad boy’s been knocked about so much I can’t even feel it anymore,” Soonyoung protests pinching the fabric of Wonwoo’s sleeve between his index finger and thumb, “buy me snacks instead.”

Wonwoo buys both.

“You’re so good to me,” Soonyoung declares happily, drinking his boxed milk. He leans over and socks Wonwoo in the shoulder as they leave the store, the bell jingling above their heads.

Wonwoo lets himself be pushed back a step and smiles faintly. Every kindness that Soonyoung shows him feels like a prize he hasn’t quite earned. He almost objects, but holds his tongue because Soonyoung will always disagree. In due time, wrongs can be made right again. 

Soonyoung’s team lives in a proper dormitory in Seoul. It’s not permanent, he explains, only when competitions near. When Wonwoo visits for the first time, he jokes that their old dorm had been better, and Soonyoung agrees, eyes crinkled up.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says, with a sidelong glance. Now that Soonyoung’s finally done keeping his new snacks in his cupboards, he collapses on his sofa and lifts a bruised arm to cover his eyes. 

“What for?” The arm is lifted from his eyes.

“For making you walk around after training.”

“I don’t mind.” Soonyoung drops his arm back in his lap, head still leaned back. “How long will you stay?”

Wonwoo stands over Soonyoung and peers down at his face. When Wonwoo was a child, he’d draw eyes on his brother’s chin and force him to make upside down faces with his mouth.

“Long.”

A smile grows on his face, slow and sure.

“Good,” murmurs Soonyoung. He stretches forward to give him a kiss, one that’s slow and lazy and sends his system into overdrive.

At the age of twenty six, Jeon Wonwoo folded his teal jersey and stored it for when he would one day reminisce the good old days. His eight year stint as a professional athlete can be summed up with a rack of small trophies he didn’t get to keep, a few televised interviews his father recorded on tape, and some of the best people he has ever known. He likes to think of it as a respectable retirement from the industry. No scandals, no significant injuries, no crushing failures. He was decent at what he did, and it brings him some pride to know that for a few years, he had the chance to do what he loved as a job, although it hadn’t worked out for him in the end.

It brings him pride, but Wonwoo is not walking around bragging about it to everyone. When Soonyoung introduces him as the best setter he’s ever played with to the fucking national volleyball team of South Korea, no less, Wonwoo wants nothing more than to die in a ditch. He has not played properly in months, and forcing middle schoolers to do push-ups hardly keeps an adult man in shape.

Still, Soonyoung says it while beaming with confidence, and it gets the rest of them intrigued, because praise coming from Kwon Soonyoung the volleyball starlet means something.

Kim Mingyu comes up to Wonwoo and asks him if he remembers him from previous matches together. All Wonwoo can do is laugh incredulously. He picks up a ball from the trolley and jogs back onto the court, as if he hasn’t just endured six whole hours of pain already.

The teal jersey remains washed and folded in his closet, but Wonwoo’s fingers remember the grooves of a volleyball all too well. It’s been too long since Wonwoo’s last played, even longer since he’s set for Soonyoung. Soonyoung prefers quick, direct shots that give him both range and power, and Wonwoo sets him one with pure muscle memory. The ball smashes down onto the ground, and Soonyoung hollers.

“We’ve still got it,” he declares triumphantly, even though they both know that chemistry as raw as this cannot be lost so easily. All it takes is Soonyoung grinning at him and Wonwoo is reminded, in an instant, of why he’d picked that jersey up in the first place.

A typical day in Wonwoo’s new life:

It starts just shy of seven in the morning. If Wonwoo is feeling strong enough, he drags himself out of bed. Most times, Minghao is the one who yanks the covers off him and shove him into their bathroom. Just before the bell rings at eight, they enter the school compounds and part ways to their respective offices. Wonwoo’s pretty sure half the teachers and students think they’re dating one another. Minghao purposely hugs him each time they part because he thinks it’s funny.

Wonwoo teaches several classes a day. They each last an hour, and they usually pass quickly enough if Wonwoo gives them an open field and a ball. Lunch is leftovers from the previous night, or something vaguely edible from the staff canteen.

Work ends at five— Wonwoo goes to the gym and Minghao makes fun of him for it. His routine is nothing compared to what it used to be. If Wonho knew, he’d be appalled. By seven, Wonwoo is on the bus home, hoping that dinner will be enough to satiate the hunger that’s been gnawing at him since that unsatisfactory salad for lunch.

Hansol, who lives across the corridor, comes over most nights because he can’t cook. Neither can Wonwoo. Neither can Minghao, honestly, but they do their best because they’re adults now, and the only thing more embarrassing than living with a roommate at the age of twenty seven is surviving off a diet of instant food. After dinner, Minghao brews them tea because it’s good for their digestion and they sit around the television to drink it. Sometimes, they watch silly television shows. Other times, the three of them talk about their days in dim light and quiet voices and it’s not quite it, but it reminds Wonwoo of home.

Slightly past ten, Wonwoo checks his phone, in case Soonyoung decides to text him. He usually does, and Minghao makes fun of him for it too. The Asian games are in a month, so Wonwoo sees less and less of Soonyoung these days and is forced to settle for catching up through the phone.

“You’re lucky, hyung.” Hansol says, taking a sip of wine. “It’s hard to find love in the city.”

By eleven, Hansol has returned to his apartment, Minghao and Wonwoo to their rooms. If he is tired, Wonwoo will turn off the lights and call it a day. If he decides he isn’t, he stays up on his computer until he remembers tomorrow is another day that must start before the sun rises.

Wonwoo has settled into a new routine in a new city, and being in Seoul no longer feels like visiting another country.

Soonyoung tells them all they don’t have to come— _no, seriously, you don’t_ —but they know him too well to not read between the lines.

The opening match is to be played against China. Junhui fools around and jokes that he's suffering from the world's worst internal conflict, holding a Chinese flag in his left hand and a Korean flag in his right. They’ve got a good view of the match, courtesy of Soonyoung, and when Soonyoung steps out, newest to the team and last to be introduced, they whistle and cheer.

It’s funny, Wonwoo thinks fondly, that it’s only Soonyoung’s first time playing in a game as large-scale as this, but he looks perfectly at ease. He grins at the stands and bows politely, then plays with the ferocity the Diamonds have grown to love once the umpire blows his whistle. He moves with poise, always tense and ready to move at the slightest call. And the love he has for the game shows, it’s in his narrowed gaze and pursed lips, in his loud cheers and bright smiles.

On the court, Soonyoung shines, and half of South Korea’s sports community is already enamoured with him. Today is his debut in an international competition that is being broadcast to a world that isn’t ready for him and the tidal wave he's about to bring along.

With every spike, every slap of the ball against his palm, the roar of the crowd grows louder and louder—or maybe that's just Seungcheol bellowing straight into Wonwoo’s ear. Soonyoung is South Korea’s new star, fresh-faced and lionhearted, and he shines brighter the more you watch. Tomorrow, the headlines will speak of nothing but their country’s new representative, handsome and talented way beyond his years.

When the scoreboard blinks and announces South Korea’s victory, Soonyoung makes a claw with his fingers and drags it over his chest. It’s childish and tongue-in-cheek and so _Soonyoung_ , the fans scream, and Jihoon groans.

“If they keep cheering, he’ll keep believing it’s a good move.”

“It's cute!” Seokmin argues, mimicking the claws.

The screen blows Soonyoung up so that everyone in the stadium can see his face, hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks all flushed, and his ridiculous, pixellated claws. Wonwoo feels pride and love and joy thrum in him so strong he could burst.

He is South Korea’s, but before the headlines and flashing cameras and screaming fans, he was theirs.

And Wonwoo’s too, because Wonwoo has some of him to himself, flushed skin and pouting lips and low laughter. He has some of Soonyoung that the rest of the world doesn’t, just like parts of him are Soonyoung’s and Soonyoung’s alone.

_You’ve made it,_ Wonwoo laughs to himself, though he can’t even hear himself over the commotion. _You’ve made it, no back up plan needed_.  
  


The South Korean team walks over to wave and bow to their supporters. Soonyoung spots them, and his lips pull back to flash them a full-cheeked grin with all his teeth. A smile that is everything that Soonyoung is, radiant and brilliant and genuine, and Wonwoo is in love with it all.

His eyes fall on Wonwoo and the grin falters, recedes into one not quite as loud, something private and just for him. In it, Wonwoo sees a bit of everything, of acceptance and forgiveness, of fondness and endearment and the overwhelming relief found in letting yourself be seen by another. Most of all, Wonwoo finds faith and resolve in Soonyoung’s face, and he has a good feeling about this. About everything, really.

Seungkwan lets out a particularly choked noise, and Soonyoung’s eyes dart away from his for a second, but they’re back in an instant, smile having grown again. Beside Wonwoo, Seokmin’s hand slips into his, squeezing it.

Kwon Soonyoung is a flighty person, jumping from place to place and never staying quite as long as everyone wants him to. He has carved out places in many people’s hearts and made a home for himself in many houses, but when the lights go out and all fades to a quiet, Kwon Soonyoung is theirs.

The Diamonds’ very own golden boy.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. can u tell i watch haikyuu
> 
> P.P.S. if u leave a comment/kudo i will love u forever and im committing to that


End file.
